Chapter 3
Three
HARSH
Exhaustion sat within him, a coiled serpent slumbering in the pit of his stomach. Harsh Kodela sat with it, his gaze on the brightly lit building in the distance, his mind far, far away. A loud burst of laughter broke the stillness of the night. Music spilled out of the open windows, the large glass terrace doors, and every other possible opening.
Bright. Loud. Fun.
Everything Harsh Kodela was. Or rather, everything Harsh Kodela was meant to be.
His phone rang, a jarring sound in the quiet confines of his darkened car. He silenced it without glancing at the display. Harsh took a deep breath, his gaze on the people milling around on the sidewalk.
Thousands of people. All here to see him, to watch him burn up the movie screens as he romanced yet another heroine in yet another romantic comedy. Crores of rupees had been invested in him, in his face, in his body, in, hopefully, also his talent. Crores. And the onus of multiplying those crores rested on his shoulders.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, steeling himself. And then he signaled to his bodyguard to open the door.
It was showtime.
Lights and screams exploded in the air around him as he stepped out of the car. Camera flashes blinded him as the paparazzi screamed questions at him. He smiled at them, beaming, what he’d been told was, a smile worth a billion bucks in their direction.
Waving to the crowd, he walked on the red carpet that led to the entrance of the private theatre that screened premieres for the biggest stars. He stopped at strategic moments to pose for the million cameras pointed at him.
From behind the roped off walkways, fans screamed, lunging for him, desperate to touch, to hold, to get a single microsecond of his attention. The guards held them off ensuring no one got to him unless he wanted them to. He signed the odd autograph, kissed a small baby’s cheek, and allowed an old lady with dodgy dentures to grab his butt.
And then they were inside, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them.
The screaming from the public faded but the screaming of his inner voice only got louder.
“Harsh!”
He smiled, one hand going to his chest, over his heart, in greeting as his producer walked up to him. The older man was all smiles, expansive and effusive. He had a winner on his hands with this movie and they both knew it.
“Namaste Gaurigaru,” Harsh murmured as the producer drew closer.
Another wave of screaming from the other side of the door heralded the entry of more stars and drowned out any conversation they could have had. Tonight promised to be the party of the year.
And then, there was the afterparty…Beads of sweat broke out along his hairline as he contemplated it. All he wanted was to go home and lie down in the quiet of his room. But that wasn’t an option.
Harsh blanked his mind out to everything as he smiled, laughed, and schmoozed with the who’s who of the Telugu film industry or Tollywood as it was known. He glanced around the room but didn’t see his family. A pang of disappointment pinched his heart before he shrugged it off.
His family was stuffed to the gills with important people. Very important people. They had better things to do than attend every movie premiere of his. He knew that and still, he waited to see if they’d come.
Sometimes they did. Sometimes they couldn’t. He understood. He was good at that. Understanding.
“Harsh, I have a script that’s going to make your career.” A noted film director slapped him on the back making the drink in his hand slosh over the rims of the glass he was holding.
His career was already made but Harsh refrained from reminding the other man of that. “I can’t wait to hear it,” he replied, his gaze scanning the room.
“It’s going to the Oscars, my boy. The Oscars.”
If he had a rupee for every time he heard that, Harsh could retire and never have to make another movie. He listened to the other man ramble on, his voice a deathly monotone that did not lend itself to reciting a story idea.
Soft fabric slid against his hand as lush, warm curves pressed up against him.
“Hello handsome.”
Harsh glanced at his leading lady, Vaishnavi Reddy, dredging up his legendary charm and unleashing it. “Hello gorgeous.” He let his gaze dip to the skintight bodycon dress she wore, her carefully coiffed hair spilling over one shoulder, an artfully placed curl drawing attention to her cleavage. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight.”
She smiled, her fake eyelashes fluttering as she gazed coyly up at him. She needed to slow it down or the eyelashes would flutter right off her face. “I had to be worthy of being on your arm tonight.”
He suppressed a wince, not letting her see his aversion to the idea of her being on his arm that night or any night.
“We should join the party,” she purred now, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his bicep.
Harsh bent his head, allowing his lips to graze the outer shell of her ear. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, staying true to the character he’d etched out for himself. “The party is wherever I am.”
And with that, he switched it on. The Harsh Kodela the world knew had arrived.
“Let’s get this party started!” he roared.
The assembled gathering roared back at him, a wave of sound that had Vaishnavi squealing like a stuck pig next to him.
Music blared, the audio swelling in the room as the vibe changed. He grabbed Vaishnavi, spinning her to the music and dipping her over his arm. Her squeals turned into giggles that felt like nails being driven into his head. Ignoring that, he spun her into the arms of a guy standing nearby and held his own hand out to the producer’s wife.
The middle-aged lady in the silk saree blushed and covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. Harsh coaxed her onto his makeshift dance floor and drew her into a gentle waltz. The producer grinned approvingly, raising his glass in a toast and Harsh knew he’d be headlining the other man’s next movie too.
The noise levels in the room were excruciating but no one made a move toward the doors leading to the theatre in the corner. Here was where the fun was. Here was where he was.
Laughing now, he deposited the producer’s wife back with her moneybags of a husband.
‘Alright then, let’s-“
Whatever he’d been about to say disappeared into the ether when he heard a familiar voice call out his name. His sister-in-law had come! He spun towards her voice, a broad grin on his face as he took in her own flushed and smiling face.
“You came!” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him in a bear hug and picking her off the ground.
“Harsh, I can’t breathe,” she gasped and he let go, his hands coming to grip her upper arms.
“You came!” he exclaimed again.
“I did!” she agreed. “And I brought family with me.”
“Anna’s here?” Harsh felt like he’d burst with happiness. His brother and sister-in-law were some of his favourite people in the world and knowing they were here for something so important to him meant everything.
But Veda was shaking her head regretfully. “Agastya couldn’t come. Nanna sent him to Chennai for some crisis management.”
“Of course.” Harsh shrugged. He understood. He always understood. Anna was a busy man, a power in politics. A capital ‘P’ in that power.
“Priya Akka came with you? And Aarush?” He peered around her looking for Priyanka, his older sister or her husband. Neither were there.
“No. They wanted to but Aarush has been running a temperature since morning so they couldn’t.”
“Then who did you bring with you?” he asked her, baffled. Surely, she hadn’t brought his parents along? If his father, the Chief Minister of their state, were here, the room would be in pandemonium.
“Me.” The cold, dry voice cut through his musings. “She brought me with her, dipshit.”
NOOOOO.
Disbelief slid through his veins as he slowly turned to his right. Why would Veda do this to him? Did she secretly hate him? Did he not deserve to bask in his success without Ms. Poison Ivy in attendance?